


Lost Character

by Quinis



Category: Batman - All Media Types, White Collar
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Memory Loss, Neal is Dick Grayson, memory regained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11800866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinis/pseuds/Quinis
Summary: Bruce Wayne arranges a meeting with Neal Caffrey. To Peter's surprise, Neal doesn't know anything about Wayne.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Response to another prompt on Tumblr:
> 
> Leeleetaichou:  
>  _how about this. neal is dick but doesn't realize he's dick cause of amnesia :D_
> 
> Notes: This one will be a two parter. This first part sets the scene while the second part will have more reactions and things.

 

* * *

**Lost Character**

* * *

Neal sat in the conference room, a little confused but hiding it under a mask of boredom. He had his feet resting on the table while he tossed his rubber-band ball and wondered why Jones had sent him up here as soon as he walked in.

Peter finally came in with a grim expression on his face. It was the expression he wore whenever he learnt about Neal doing something not quite legal while on the anklet. Neal immediately started thinking over what he possibly could have done. However, he couldn't think of anything which warranted the disappointed look.

"What's going on?" he asked instead, keeping his voice light.

It looked like Peter wasn't going to answer but the agent finally moved to sit down.

"What do you know about Bruce Wayne?"

Neal blinked. "I have literally never heard that name in my life. Why?"

Peter's mouth dropped open and Neal dropped his feet to the ground and stared at the agent. There had to be a reason for this as it wasn't like Peter to ask Neal about random people.

"Did he lose a painting and blame it on me? Because, I swear Peter, I had nothing to do with it."

Peter finally seemed to snap out of his stupor and shook his head. "Nothing like that. Mr Wayne seems to believe you might be his missing son."

"His what?" Neal recoiled. "Why would he think that?"

"I don't know Neal. But at this moment, we're looking into you possibly conning him. After all, Wayne is a very rich man."

"He is? What's he do?"

Peter rolled his eyes but didn't take them off Neal for a moment, judging his every movement and trying to assess whether Neal was being honest. Which he was. Neal had no idea who this Wayne guy was.

"He's in everything. Wayne is one of the big names in business, especially in his hometown of Gotham."

"I've never been to Gotham," Neal quickly said, making himself an alibi.

"He even has an office here in New York."

"Really?"

Peter continued staring as he said, "Neal, it's just up the street in Worth Street." Seeing Neal's confusion he confirmed, "you seriously have no idea who he is."

Neal shrugged, trying to hide how shaken he was. Obviously Peter had been expecting him to at least know who Wayne was. Neal didn't like the feeling that he disappointed him. "That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"Alright," Peter said. "I'm going to get Hughes to bring Wayne in."

Neal was even more nervous than he had been before. His stomach was doing flip-flops in some kind of anticipation. What was he waiting for?

* * *

Bruce Wayne entered the room like he owned it. Neal tried not to see his own confidence in Wayne's movement. He focused on how Bruce's confidence came from a serious and imposing attitude which said he could do anything. Neal's own was a lighthearted attitude which put people at ease.

Wayne walked in and took a seat across from Neal. Nerves fluttered in Neal's gut as he held the billionaire's eyes. They were an intense stormy blue which stayed fixed on his own. Wayne was also tense.

Neal tilted his head. Was there something familiar about those eyes? That jawline?

"Neal Caffrey," Hughes said as he stood at the end of the table. Neal jolted and looked towards their boss, smiling and waiting whatever came next. "This is Bruce Wayne. He says he wanted to speak with you. Peter and I will be remaining to make sure nothing happens."

Neal's smile softened into something more natural. He didn't know about Hughes but he was sure Peter was staying to make sure he was safe.

"Okay," he said, turning back to Wayne. "Why did you want to meet with me?"

Wayne pulled a folder out of his briefcase and placed it in front of himself. He opened it and pulled out a copy of Neal's fingerprints.

"Are these your fingerprints?" he asked.

Neal took the paper and instantly knew they were his. Mozzie had made him study his own fingerprints. Flippantly, he commented, "who would know without checking?"

Wayne wasn't the least bit put off. "Then let's check." He pulled out ink and another piece of paper.

Neal looked to Peter and Hughes. Peter shrugged and mouthed for him to 'just do it'. Indulging the crazy billionaire was something Neal guessed the FBI had to do from time to time. He took his fingerprints and put them on the paper for Wayne, even though it made him worry to do so. Why did Wayne want his fingerprints? Mozzie would kill him if he knew Neal was doing this.

Wayne took the paper and examined it. He took out another set of fingerprints and placed them on the table.

"Another one?" Neal sighed.

Wayne raise an eyebrow at him. Neal ignored the familiarity of the gesture. "Are these yours?"

"Yes," Neal responded. He pointed to the sheet Wayne was holding. "Don't they match?"

"They do," Wayne responded with a small smile. "Except this sheet of fingerprints belongs to my son, Dick Grayson."

Neal's heart skipped a beat, his train of thought screeching to a halt. Who? What?

"Grayson? Not Wayne?" he questioned, his voice sounding distant to his ears.

"I took him in as a child, as my ward and adopted him as an adult," Bruce explained. "He vanished around about the time you appeared here, in New York."

"What are you saying, Mr. Wayne?" Hughes questioned in a low tone, having put the pieces together.

"How can you know that?" Peter asked. "We don't know when Neal came to New York."

"Yes, you only have his files since he was eighteen but nothing physical until Neal came onto your radar with the bonds. Files can be faked."

Neal's vision blurred and stung with the need to blink. But he couldn't. He couldn't take his eyes off Bruce. He was serious.

He knew this face. He-

"Neal?" Peter questioned. Neal flinched back, standing up instinctively.

"What exactly are you saying?" he growled at Bruce, hands placed on the desk.

"Caffrey," Hughes said in warning.

Neal realised with him towering over the still seated Bruce, he probably looked like he was intimidating or threatening the billionaire.

"Do you remember your life before New York?" Bruce questioned calmly, not at all thrown off by Neal's sudden change in demeanour.

There was no good way to answer this. Usually, Neal didn't think about it. He didn't know much about his life before twenty-three, when he appeared in New York. His first clear memories were of Central Park.

Peter was shocked. He never considered that Neal's closed nature about his past was because he couldn't remember it.

"I can't," Neal finally admitted, hanging his head. "I don't really care about it though."

"I'm sorry," Bruce suddenly said. Neal looked up to see a small, sad smile on his face while his eyes seemed a bit too bright. "I'm sorry it took us so long to find you."

"Us?" Neal questioned, forehead creasing. The flash of a coffin which featured in his nightmares whenever someone suggested he use violence. The butler without a face, who formed some inspiration for Neal's aliases when doing a con.

Peter's hand went to Neal's arm, guiding him back into the chair.

"Quick, what names won't you ever consider for an alias?" Bruce demanded.

Peter glared at him but Neal found himself automatically responding to that tone.

"Jason and Todd, Tim, Bruce-" he stopped as the name of the man before him passed across his lips. Instead of looking offended, Bruce looked amused. Victorious, even. "What does this prove?" Neal questioned, his heart constricting. He knew. Somewhere deep inside, he knew. Exactly what he couldn't articulate. Not yet.

"Perhaps we should continue this at a later date," Hughes said, giving Peter a worried glance. Peter nodded.

"No," Neal said in a hard voice.

"I agree with you, agent," Bruce responded with a look at Hughes. "I will just say two things before I leave."

Hughes glared at Bruce but nodded. Neal wanted to yell at them both to not decide things like this without him but Peter shook his head at him.

"First thing, I will return tomorrow to continue this conversation," Bruce said, looking Neal in the eye. "Second thing, the reason I will do that is tied to how you lost your memory. The process means you may end up forgetting this conversation completely by tomorrow."

"I... what?" Neal questioned, confused. He didn't think he could ever forget this conversation, it was strange and contained a lot of information to think about.

"One question before you leave," Peter said as Bruce stood up. "How certain are you that Neal is your missing son? He is a conman after all."

The corner of Bruce's mouth quirked up as he responded, "ninety-eight percent."

* * *

Neal didn't know how to process this. He remained in Peter's office all day, wary about going downstairs and facing the agents and their questions. He both didn't want to think about it and couldn't stop thinking about it.

Peter took note of how quiet Neal was and worried. He didn't think Neal was conning them or Bruce Wayne. Not with how quiet and shaken the conman was. Neal worked on paperwork for most of the day, lost in his thoughts.

"Do you believe it's true?" he asked Neal towards the end of the day. "Do you believe you're Bruce Wayne's missing son?"

"I don't know," Neal responded. "It's true that I can't remember anything before New York, which makes everything Bruce said possible. But, I just... don't know. What does it all mean?"

Peter looked at his screen and wondered whether to inform Neal of this. The corner of the conman's mouth was twisted in thought and his eyebrows were knitted together as he drew on the back of his form. Peter probably should have stopped him but, he believed Neal benefited therapeutically from doing art right now.

"The names you said, the ones you wouldn't use," Peter started. "They're Wayne's other sons."

"What?" Neal questioned, looking up from his paper. "What are you talking about?"

"Jason Todd," Jason and Todd, "was his second son, adopted after Dick Grayson moved out. Tim is probably Timothy Drake, his third son who was adopted much later on when his father died. However, there are rumours that he was part of the family long before that as there are photos of him accompanying Wayne to events before his father died. There's a fourth son-"

"Damian," Neal interrupted. His eyes were wide as if he both couldn't believe his guess was right but with knowledge that it would be.

Peter nodded. "The youngest. I find it hard to believe you knew nothing about Wayne."

"Maybe he'll explain it tomorrow," Neal said with a shrug. However, Peter heard the weight of the words. Neal was really worried. There was no way Peter was going to leave him alone tonight.

* * *

El didn't even hesitate to include Neal for dinner. Peter quickly relayed the story to her before he and Neal left. El kept the night the same as any other when Neal joined them. His place was set at the table and he received food and a blanket when he retired to the couch.

Lights went off, they all went to bed. Peter told her about his worried over the next day, Wayne's return had him slightly on edge. Whatever the billionaire had to reveal, Peter was certain he wouldn't be happy about it.

* * *

Neal opened his eyes to the smell of bacon. He hummed in contentment as he climbed off the couch and stretched out his muscles. He did a couple of stretches and loosened up his muscles so that he was more flexible before heading into the kitchen. He muttered a 'morning' to El as he reached for the cereal.

"I'm making bacon," El commented in a teasing and friendly way.

"Cereal and bacon," Neal pointed out, trying to articulate that he could eat both as he stumbled to the dining room and made himself a bowl. Peter came down shortly after, yawning and hungry.

"Do you have to steal all my cereal, Caffrey?" Peter grumbled as he sat down. El placed a plate of bacon in front of him. "Thanks, hon."

"Yes," Neal responded, taking another bite. "Where's my bacon, El?"

"You need to finish that bowl first," El pointed out with a grin as he went to make a plate for herself.

"So, ready to talk to with Wayne again today?" Peter asked Neal.

Neal sighed. "Not really. I guess I should be glad he didn't bring the whole family."

"I think Hughes is glad about that as well."

"Very much so," Neal said, "I don't really want to witness a fight first thing in the morning." Peter hummed in interest, encouraging Neal to keep talking. "Jason, Tim and Damian all enjoy fighting each other. Or at least, I think they enjoy it. Otherwise, why do they keep fighting?"

"Boys will be boys," Peter commented. He kept from pointing out that Neal seemed to remember something. Otherwise, how did he know about the temperament of Bruce's other sons?

* * *

Neal remembered a lot. He remembered being grabbed. He had been targeted during his investigation which had been a fact finding mission done as a favour for an old buddy from the Bludhaven force. The gang had been surprised to end up with Bruce Wayne's son but also excited to use him.

It still gave Neal pleasure that he had made their lives difficult. Not only was erasing his memories much more difficult than they had expected but, he hadn't even done what they had wanted.

"I was taken and had my memories messed with in order to act as a scapegoat for a criminal group, wasn't I?" Neal said to Bruce the moment he spotted the billionaire sitting in the conference room.

Peter looked at him in surprise at the information.

"Slow it down, Caffrey and wait for us to sit," Hughes said, slipping into a chair. Neal frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

"As soon as Bruce confirms it."

"It's true," Bruce responded. With a nod, Neal slipped into the seat across from him and between Peter and Hughes. "You were here, helping a friend who moved from the Bludhaven police force to the New York one. When you went missing, it took him three months to contact us, by which time, the trail had gone cold." Neal winced but Bruce continued, "there was no guarantee that you would remember, even with me appearing to trigger your memories. After all, they had made sure that, not only did you not remember us, you were ingrained to avoid us."

"That's why Neal didn't know who you were," Peter mused. "Because anytime he did, whatever they did made the information disappear."

"Is that even possible?" Hughes commented.

Neal knew his next words would bug the agent. "It is with alien tech."

"Of course," Hughes sighed. No one liked dealing with alien tech. Mostly they passed it to cyber crimes or forensics, depending on what the tech was. And then the tech ended up in the hands of other government agencies where Hughes wasn't going to think about what they did with it.

"It seems that my presence has had the opposite effect though," Bruce said with a smile. He looked to Neal. "You remember, don't you?" Neal smiled back, a wider and more open smile. Peter stared at him, knowing that he had never seen Neal smile like that before. "It probably helps that you've been passively fighting against everything you were programmed since you were sent out."

Neal laughed and Hughes' eyebrows rose. It wasn't a sound they heard often, if at all. "I was supposed to deposit the money from the bonds in their secret accounts but instead I made off with the cash!"

"And the rest of your crimes?" Hughes wanted to know.

Neal thought about that for a moment. With a shrug, he said, "you only got me on the bonds."

"Neal," Peter said in a warning tone. "We just need to know if any cases where you're the main suspect need to be looked at again for other suspects."

Neal hummed. "Probably not. What else is an amnesiac guy with money and illegal bonds going to do?"

"Get a job?" Hughes suggested with a slight edge of sarcasm.

"Dick was never very good at that."

"Bruce!" Neal said in a scandalised tone. Peter chuckled.

"Working with the FBI might be good for you," Bruce mused.

"What?" Neal questioned flatly in shock.

"I just wanted to make sure that you were doing it as yourself and not what someone else tried to make you."

"Bruce-"

Bruce nodded to Hughes. "Thank you for your time, Hughes."

"Are you seriously going to leave me here?" Neal kind of hated how much like a spoiled child he sounded but, he had thought Bruce needed him when he appeared.

"There's a thing called a phone, Dick," Bruce said. Neal glared at him, the hypocrite. "And I need to go update your details."

"No more Neal Caffrey?" That kind of hurt. Neal didn't mind his name.

"Up to you. But your records are going to reflect your name. You were always proud of it."

Neal grumbled something under his breath about how Bruce just always had to be right, didn't he?

* * *

Peter and Neal went to lunch, Peter quickly hurrying out of the office.

"You're in a bit of a rush," Neal commented as they waited in the elevator.

"I figured you didn't want us talking in the office with everyone around. Not until Hughes manages to have that meeting." Hughes was planning a meeting where they would explain about Neal being Dick so that they would only have to say it once.

Neal hummed in response, leaning against the wall of the elevator. He waved to the security camera.

"You still seem the same to me," Peter commented. "But also as if a weight has been lifted."

"I know who I am," Neal responded with a smile. "And I remember my family. I guess I never realised why it felt wrong not remembering, just that it did."

"Are you really friends with a cop?" Peter asked.

Neal smiled and shifted. He waited until the elevator stopped to say, "Peter, I was a cop." And he walked out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: This is where the flow took me to finish off this story. To those who despair, there will be more Batman/White Collar crossovers. I have received prompts for it.

 

The conference room was silent. On the screen was information about Dick Grayson. His driver's licence, the newspaper articles about his parents' deaths, his missing person's report with his photo and his police ID (expired).

"You're a cop?" Diana finally asked. It was that question which broke the silence, people turning to gossip and chat with each other, the room filling with a quiet roar.

Neal grinned at Diana. "I was a cop. I left the force before everything happened."

"He was in Bludhaven," Neal heard someone whisper off to his left in awe. Bludhaven had a reputation, even among the FBI in New York. Whether they thought he was corrupt or not, the fact that being on the force didn't end with him dead still impressed some.

"Why?" Diana asked.

"I left because my senior asked me to. I was in danger and putting others in danger and she needed to protect the majority." Diana looked crestfallen at that so he added, "she offered me my job back later on but, I didn't feel like it was for the right reasons so I refused and decided to find something else to do."

Diana raised an eyebrow but Neal turned to Jones, ending the conversation. After all, he wasn't going to tell her that he had been offered his position back so he could legally shoot a criminal who had been systematically attacking every aspect of Dick Grayson's life.

"What do you make of this?" Neal asked him.

"Do we call you Neal or Dick?" Jones questioned. "Personally, I vote for Dick."

"As long as everyone's okay with it," Neal responded. "Bruce is trying to get my name back anyway."

"It'll be Dick by the end of the week," Peter said. "Enjoy your last days as Neal."

A couple of nearby agents stopped talking to listen.

"You seem calm about this," Diana commented.

Peter smiled. "I think having Dick Grayson around as a CI might be interesting." What he had seen of Dick so far was someone like Neal but with a weight off his shoulders Peter hadn't realised Neal had.

"You're just happy that I'm stuck in the anklet," Neal pouted. "So mean."

"So, is it Wayne now, Caffrey?" Jones mused. He said it kindly but Neal heard a couple of agents mutter 'Wayne' in a demeaning way. After Bruce was known for two things; money and being a stupid socialite.

"It's Grayson," Neal corrected. "Bruce adopted me as an adult and I was much more comfortable keeping the name my parents held."

"I know it was a long time ago but, I'm sorry for your loss," Diana said. Neal nodded his thanks, having expected that reaction from her. Diana was one who knew that losing someone never really stopped hurting after a loss.

"Alright Agents," Hughes ordered, clapping to get everyone's attention. "You are now up to date."

"Mostly," Neal muttered. Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

* * *

"'Mostly'?" Peter questioned after everyone had returned to work. Neal was sitting across from him, avoiding the stares and questions for as long as he could. "What haven't you mentioned, Neal?"

Neal thought about it for a moment. "My brothers. I mean, I know you know about them but, it's one thing to know and another entirely to meet them."

"Are we going to meet them?" Peter questioned.

Neal shrugged. He honestly didn't know. After all, they all had their own lives.

* * *

Neal couldn't hide in Peter's office forever. Since his memory issues had been explained, he received many pitying looks. He also received a couple of congratulations for getting his memory back.

What surprised him was that it took only two days for Dick Grayson to be old news, which Neal was happy about. He might have been a conman and a person made to be in the spotlight but he preferred it when the spotlight was of his choosing.

"Want to share any cases you worked in Bludhaven?" Diana asked when they all went for coffee.

"Not really," Neal responded.

"If he was anything like he is now, he probably spent his time bugging people in the van," Jones commented.

Neal grinned at him. "We don't get vans. Only cars for stakeouts." Which was more than Nightwing got. There had been a number of stakeouts he had to cancel or do in the rain while wearing the mask.

"That must have killed you," Jones responded jokingly.

"Or your partner," Diana added.

"Oh, definitely. She complained that I 'talk too much'," Neal said, taking some liberties with what she actually said. Honestly, she had probably been thinking it.

* * *

It happened in a meeting when they were talking about getting a warrant. Peter suddenly paused and looked straight at Neal.

"Wait a second. You were a cop. You know warrant law."

"Yes?" Neal responded hesitantly, wondering where this was going.

"I want my book back, Neal. The one I lent you when we were after Hagen and you apparently didn't know warrant law."

"'Apparently'?" Neal questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"I knew there had to be a reason you were so good at staying one step ahead."

"You think I was using my forgotten knowledge to dodge the police?" Neal questioned, playing up being offended. Then he relaxed and grinned. "Probably. I wouldn't have been useful to them if I got arrested too easily."

"Neal. I want my book back."

"Fine, fine. I've give it back when Mozzie's done with it."

"You gave it to Mozzie?"

"I'm surprised he hadn't already finished it," Diana commented.

"Oh he has. He just hasn't returned it."

"I'm never getting my book back," Peter sighed.

Hughes coughed to get their attention and Neal immediately explained how they could get the warrant using a connection they hadn't realised yet.

* * *

The day that Bruce brought Dick's updated IDs into the office was also the day Neal; now Dick, invited Jones, Diana, Peter and El over to his apartment. June wanted to celebrate and she had the chef make up a spread of sandwiches, quiche and fruit platters.

"How lovely," El said when she saw them.

"I guess," Jones commented, taking a bit of a small quiche. "I don't know if it'll be filling though."

Dick opened the fridge and pulled out a six pack of beer.

"While I prefer wine and liquors, I did get something the rest of you can enjoy."

"Plebeians," Mozzie snorted, sipping his wine. He had been sitting on the couch when they all arrived.

They all shrugged it off. Jones, Peter and Diana all went for the beer while Neal poured himself and El a wine.

"So, what's it like having your memories back?"

"Great," Dick responded with a smile. "It filled in everything which had felt... off about my life. Although, I remember how much I loved travelling." He sighed since travelling wasn't something he could do right now.

"You can travel all you want when that comes off," Jones reminded him, pointing at the anklet.

"Surely the FBI can provide enough interest for you to stay," El commented.

Mozzie snorted.

"Something to add, Haversham?" Peter questioned.

"The things which we have done are far more interesting than working for the Man."

"While the FBI is limited in the actions it can take, it does play an important role," Dick reminded his friend.

"Limited?" Jones questioned, sounding slightly offended.

However, Diana smiled and countered, "you grew up in Gotham so you really can't talk."

"What does Gotham have to do with anything?" El questioned. A frustrated frown marred Peter's features.

"Gotham has alternative methods for dealing with criminals."

"Seriously?" Jones questioned in disbelief. "Those rumours about Batman are real?"

"What else would they be?"

"I thought he was just some myth which someone in the Justice League modelled himself after."

"How do you explain Robin then? I mean, he used to hang around here," Diana said. Dick smiled into his wine. He silently wondered which Robin Diana was thinking about. After all, he had lived here in his late teens and Tim had lived here for a while before becoming Red Robin. "Now we have Red Robin and his group."

"The Teen Titans," Mozzie grumbled. "They're bad for business."

"How so?" Peter asked in interest.

"So Batman's real and the teenagers running around in skin tight costumes and powers to spare cause more than just traffic delays?" Jones summed up, reaching for another beer. He needed it.

"You don't know what'll attract their attention. So you've always got to plan for them turning up. Plus, it makes dealing with costumed fools more likely but also more difficult. Groups tend to attract the ones who'll want to kill you if things don't go their way. They're the worst." Mozzie pulled out a chair and joined them at the table. "At least Neal was the kind of criminal that tended to stay off their radar."

"Was?" Peter questioned.

"Well you've got him dealing with guys like Wilkes, who's just one origin story away from being a supervillain."

Dick mused on that. Mozzie was right about Wilkes.

* * *

There was a cry of pain and a thud followed by what sounded like scraping outside.

Mozzie was snoozing on the couch, Jones had to get to bed early since he was in the van the next morning for a shift and Diana was getting ready to leave. Peter pushed El behind him and pulled his gun with Diana doing the same next to him.

Dick held out a hand to keep them from firing. He had seen a symbol flash in the darkness outside. He just hoped he was wrong. He opened the door and stepped out into the darkness.

"Dick!" Peter hissed in warning. They had no idea who was out there.

Dick recognised the figure in the darkness. It was hard to misplace the segmented cape spread along the figures back and out to the sides. He moved quickly and dropped down next to Red Robin's side, checking his pulse.

"Alive," he announced in a relieved tone. He tentatively checked for injuries by running his hands over Tim's features. There was blood on his forehead, his arm was cut and bent at a strange angle and he was unconscious.

"Dick?" Diana questioned. "Who's out there?"

"It's Red Robin!" Dick called back, knowing that lying wouldn't do any good when they could just come out and check. His voice shook a little as he continued, "come help me! He's hurt."

Peter came out to help him carry the unconscious vigilante in, El went for the first aid kit in the bathroom and Diana took charge of waking Mozzie.

"We'll put him on my bed," Dick said to Peter.

Mozzie took the first aid kit from El and walked over. "I guess it's a good thing to have a vigilante in our debt," he commented as he began to look Red Robin over. "But shouldn't we see if any of the other vigilantes are able to help?"

"Sure, I'll go light the batsignal," Diana responded sarcastically.

"What would be helpful," Mozzie said. He requested some water and a cloth so they could clean off the blood. Especially the blood from the head wound which was spottily covering half of his face.

"We don't have a batsignal," Peter informed him. "And no way of contacting the Teen Titans."

"Young Justice," Red Robin groaned out. "We call ourselves 'Young Justice' now. The Teen Titans are Robin's team."

"You're awake!" El said happily. She took the cloth and started dabbing at the blood.

"Where am I?"

"351 Riverside Drive," Peter rattled off, having memorised the address the moment Neal moved in.

Red Robin was silent for a moment, head lolling around as he processed that. Finally, in a small voice, he muttered, "Dick?"

"Right here," Dick said, taking his good hand and giving it a squeeze. "I have the stuff needed to splint your arm."

Red Robin groaned and his gaze flicked back towards the group on the other side of the bed. "Do you trust them?"

"Enough," Dick responded, "besides, they're smart enough to figure out that there's something going on."

"Sorry," Red Robin muttered.

"Not your fault. I don't have to tell them the truth. I will, but later. Let's get you looked after." Neal passed sticks and twine over to Mozzie, who began arranging things to splint the broken arm.

"This isn't a long term fix, you know," Mozzie said. "And it's going to hurt."

Red Robin hummed and nodded his understanding. "Communicator, you know where it is. Call Superboy."

"Got it," Dick said, pulling the object out of the right pocket. "If you'll excuse me." He ducked outside.

The group shared a look between each other, which ended with them all staring at Peter. Peter sighed and followed Dick outside.

"Do you mind…?" he questioned.

"You can stay," Dick said as he took a deep breath and pressed a couple of buttons, activating the tracker while making the call.

"Red Robin!" Superboy picked up instantly and with panic. "Please tell me you're alright!" Impluse could be heard in the background, speaking a mile a minute. From what little Dick could make out, Red Robin had been injured and vanished into the darkness before they could help him. He had been right there as Superboy punched the villain out but then gone the moment Superboy turned around.

"Not Red Robin," Dick responded.

"Who- Nightwing?" Superboy questioned, recognising the voice after a moment of confusion. Dick glanced back to Peter, who had heard the bewildered cry on the other end. Peter's eyebrow went up, the only sign he gave of hearing it. Dick frowned, frustrated that he couldn't get a read on how Peter felt about it. Dick rattled off the address they were at and, in a blur of colour and gust of wind, Impulse appeared on the edge of the balcony.

"Whoa!" Impluse cried, falling back off the railing and towards the ground three floors below. Superboy flew up behind him and gave him a push into the ground with a long-suffering sigh.

"Hey," Dick said with a smile and a wave. The next moment, there was tight squeezing around his waist as Impulse gripped him in a hug.

"ohmygosh, you'rereallyokay! RedRobin's sohappy'boutit."

"Uh… yes. I'm fine. Let go please?"

Behind him, Peter snorted. Having caught the attention of the two costumed heroes, he held up his badge. "Peter Burke, FBI. I'm Dick's friend. We were having a get-together before Red Robin appeared."

"He needs medical attention." Dick turned to Superboy. "You can fly him to the nearest facility, but be careful of his arm."

Superboy cursed. "I told him he broke it. But he told me he was fine."

"Of course he did," Dick sighed. He motioned for them to come in.

Superboy gathered Red Robin up in his arms, despite the other's protests.

"See you later," Superboy said before flying off.

"Well, that was interesting," Diana said. She stared at Dick. "Anything else you want to tell us?"

"Can't a guy have a couple of secrets?" Dick questioned. "Of course, if you really want to know, it might mean you'll have to perjury yourself one day."

"No one's going to ask us if we know who Nightwing is," Peter said. "Not unless you give them reason to." Dick held a hurt hand to his heart. It hid his real hurt expression by turning it into a mockery. He would never give someone a reason to hurt his friends. Peter's expression softened. "I trust you won't."

Dick tried not to smile.

"Nightwing?" El questioned.

Mozzie frowned. "If you're Nightwing, do a flip or something!"

Dick laughed. "Really? That's all it's going to take?" He jumped into a backflip, landing right where he had been standing. El clapped while the rest looked shocked.

"Nightwing, huh?" Mozzie mused.

Dick's smile faded a little at the cold attitude coming from his friend. "Moz, I didn't mean to lie to you. It's just I didn't remember until recently."

* * *

Mozzie forgave Dick the day Alvin Draper turned up at Friday; the safe house Mozzie used on Sunday. It wasn't hard for Mozzie to make the connection between 'Alvin' and Red Robin. The teenager was also wearing a cast on his arm. He knocked and waited for Mozzie to let him in before explaining that Mozzie was under the Batman family's protection. He gave him a means of contacting them and also a painting.

The painting had been part of Jason's stash and Alvin had stolen it off the anti-hero's wall. The Red Hood, dressed in a suit and domino mask, turned up the next day. With hood tucked under his arm, the young man relented and let Mozzie keep the painting after he explained how it arrived in his possession.

"You can keep it. It's the least you deserve for putting up with Dick for years. Keeping him alive would have been difficult. He's a trouble magnet."

Mozzie mentally prepared himself to keep his friendship with Dick. Neal had been trouble enough but, his presence brought about some of the best years of Mozzie's life. Plus, the painting netted quite a bit on the black market.

Dick groaned when Mozzie told him about the painting and the visits.

"I can't believe they basically paid you to put up with me."

"Their loss," Mozzie commented into his second glass of wine. "I would have done it anyway."


End file.
